


Unexpected Gifts

by Rhialoviction



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Amnesia, Awesome Bobby, Child Abuse, Comfort, Crying, Crying Dean, Crying Sam, Drinking Problem, Drunk John, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Dean, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Sam, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Limp Sam, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Protective Bobby, Protective Bobby Singer, Protective Dean, Protective Dean Winchester, Self-Hatred, Sexual Abuse, between parent and child, if you read the second, if you stop after the first chapter, poor sammy, whumpage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-09 17:04:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7810123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhialoviction/pseuds/Rhialoviction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John comes home drunk and Sam asks what he brought him.  John snaps and beats and rapes Sam, who he sees as entitled, spoiled, and good-for-nothing.</p><p>Really, I don't know why this was in my head, but it had to come out.</p><p>Injustice of the cruelest kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> If non-con gets to you, please don't read this.  
> Disclaimer: Rape is not cool in real life. I only write about it because this is fantasy. It shouldn't exist in reality, but unfortunately it does.
> 
> I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry for this.

John stumbles through the door after fumbling with the hotel keys for a few minutes, smelling of whiskey and freshly killed wendigo.  It’s two in the morning, with only the neon light piercing the darkness outside, and all John wants to do is sleep for a week. 

 

“Daddy! Daddy!” He’s taken aback when, suddenly, a tiny creature races out of the dingy bathroom and wraps its arms tightly around his waist, practically bouncing with excitement.  “What did you bring me? What did you get me?”  John backhands the small figure right before his far-from-sober senses catch up to him and he realizes that he has just struck his youngest son to the ground.  Sammy is silent, holding a hand to his reddened cheek, and looking up at his father with large puppy-dog eyes, the ones that he uses to make Dean do anything he wants.

 

“Fuckin’ lil’ brat” John sputters, unaware he is shuffling on his feet to keep from toppling over.

 

“Dad?  I just—”

 

Sam yelps as John drags him upright, fisting the collar of the boy’s grey-blue hand-me-down shirt.  The hunter holds Sam’s face tight and notices his spoiled offspring is finally silent, no longer demanding any unearned or undeserved tokens of affection.

 

“That’s right,” John growls.  “It’s about time you learned your place.  You entitled, self-absorbed little brat.”

 

John tosses Sam backwards into the room and slams the hotel door behind him as he stalks forward.  His coward of a son attempts to crawl away, god knows he has nowhere to run to, but John grabs the skinny ankle, heaves hard, and then yanks his son up onto one of the beds.  Sam lands on his back, hands in the air trying to protect his frightened face. “Daddy, wait! Please—”

 

“Shut up.” John pulls the shaking hands out of the way, holding the fragile wrists in one crushing grip above the child’s head, forcing his son to face these consequences head-on. After all, John's not some white-collar pansy-ass dad who can just bring souvenirs home from business trips every two weeks. Hunters can't afford the time or money for that kind of shit, and Sam had better not forget it.

 

For a split second John’s vision blacks out and he almost falls onto the boy, pinning the bruised wrists to the comforter.  Then he remembers that he has to dole out some much deserved punishment before he can finally rest.

 

“You don’t pull your weight around here, you don’t want to hunt, all you do is make Dean take care of you, take him away from his training, from hunting.  Little parasite, that’s what you are.  Hell, you’re probably the reason he’s stuck at Bobby’s right now with a damned broken leg!”  Sam squeezes his eyes shut and John shakes him until they’re wide open again.  “Can’t let your brother be.  He’s getting sloppy you know, because of you.  He could’ve _died_ back there!  _I_ could’ve died on that hunt!” 

 

Sammy whines out a bit as his dad shoves him further up on the bed.  At the same time John ungracefully swings a hulking leg up and over so he’s now straddling his youngest.  Holding him immobile with his trifold weight.

 

“And then where would you be?  Alone?  Dean wouldn’t give a damn about you if I hadn’t made him save you from that fire.  It’s not really caring, just an instinct.  Primal, meaningless,”

 

Sam’s breath catches in his throat and he feels a panic attack start to come on.  It’s worse than that, though, because he knows that Dean’s not here, and Dean’s not coming, and unfortunately Dean’s the only one who knows how to sooth Sammy through the crippling waves of fear that are about to wash over him.

 

“No more of that though.  I’ll have no more bewitching, no more self-entitled, lazy, ungrateful, good-for-nothing leeches under my roof,” John’s heavily slurred words are each emphasized with a rough shake of his son’s shoulders.  The hand that hasn’t been holding Sam’s wrists then makes its way down to the boy’s crotch, meaty fingers failing to undo the button there.  “It’s about fucking time you— I said _stoppit_!”

 

When Sam finally starts to struggle, John roars and full on punches his son square in the jaw, snapping the young Winchester’s head up and to the side.  Sam chokes and gasps before slowly turning his aching neck to look up at his father’s darkened gaze.  Unaware of the blood running down his chin, Sam’s entire existence is instantly shattered as he realizes that there is not one hint remorse in that leering face.  No glimmer of paternal care or fatherly love.  It’s only anger and disgust and rage that stare down at the beautifully broken boy.  And so Sam stops.  He knows it would be useless to try and dislodge John again.  He knows he was always useless to his father, to his family, to Dean.  John is right.  Sam was so _selfish—_

Cold air on his sensitive skin is what brings Sam out of his thoughts, back into the present.  He looks down his body so see that John had managed to pull Sam’s jeans down to his ankles, and is now working his own belt buckle undone.

 

John grunts and continues to spout off all of the reasons he has always hated his youngest, meanwhile stroking himself to fullness.  He blames Sam for Mary’s death and how _dare_ he seek to take away Dean’s affections.  John had Dean _first_!  It wasn’t fair and Sam doesn’t deserve the dirt under his feet, much less the attention of great hunters like John and Dean.

 

A scream tears from the depths of Sam’s being as John rams himself to the hilt into the small, shaking body.  With tiny fingers clenched into looming flannel, the boy rides out the first, devastating thrusts.  Unable to reign in his cries of despair Sammy is almost grateful when John started beating him into silence again.  Thrusting and grunting and punching until Sam’s mind becomes fuzzy and drifts far away from here.

 

It seems like an eternity before John finally comes, slamming into Sam with as much wrath as he possible can, but in reality the entire assault only lasts for a few minutes.

 

Sam is shoved off the bed, left in a bloody, naked heap on the solid floor.  John straightens up and towers above, appearing to grow larger like a shadow climbing a wall.

 

“I hope you never, _never,_ assume you should get anything from us _ever_ again.  You learn this lesson _now_.  What ever made you think you’re so important?  Huh?  What in the world ever made you think you _ever_ deserved anything from anyone, you little prick?”

 

John tries to bring his foot back so he can kick in a few more ribs, but he finds the motion too complicated to follow through with.  Instead the pause in his actions allows him a moment to become cognizant of a few sniveling words Sam has been repeating, over and over again.  John’s blood turns to ice as he starts to listen to the tearstained pleas emanating from the crying boy, curled up at his feet.

 

“I’m s-sorry, I’m s-so sorry dad…please stop.  I just thought…I thought, since…m-my birthday…I thought m-maybe…I’m sorry… I sh-shouldn’t have. I’m so sorry! I was wr-wrong, I was wrong, and I know that now!  I’m so s-sorry…p-p-please forgive me, daddy!  …I won’t ask again, I promise!  I swear I w-won’t!  …please, please no more.  I sh-shouldn’t have expected any…b-b-birthday p-presents.  I’m so sorry…I’m so s-sorry…I’m so sorry…”


	2. Before the Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John doesn't remember what he did. The family gets back together at Bobby's.

John sits on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, red streaks of sunlight beaming through the window behind him.  God, his head is killing him.  He’s got to start laying off the rot-gut whiskey.  The too-young-to-feel-this-old hunter groans and rises stiffly to his feet, rubs a hand across his tired eyes.

 

“Sammy!”  John winces, and lowers the volume of his own voice.  “Ugh.  Just pack up your stuff and meet me in the car, okay son?”

 

John is vaguely aware that his boy had been in the bathroom for a while.  He doesn’t notice the other bed is pristine, not slept in, nor does he see the chaos strewn about the room as he makes his way to the door, squinting against the morning light.

 

Sam keeps his eyes on the bathroom door lock until he hears the other door slam shut.  He sniffs and looks at his sorry reflection in the mirror.  He had done his best to hide the damage done: a change of clothes, washing what he could despite the pain.  Now all he has to worry about is explaining away the bruise mottled across his jaw.  Bobby and Dean don’t  know he stayed home from the hunt. He could tell them he got it from the Wendigo.  That is if John plays along.  Oh god, what if he tells them the truth? Sam doesn’t think he could bear it if they knew how awful he really is!  But then again, they probably already do.

 

Sam grips the countertop as he sinks to his knees.

 

John knows he should be at least a little stern with Sam when the boy takes a good twenty minutes before climbing in through the passenger side door, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t grateful for the chance to relax.  The impala rolls out of town carrying a broken boy and the man who was once his hero.  Sam never takes his eyes off the horizon speeding by beyond the blurred landscape.

 

After five hours of silence they arrive at Bobby's.

 

Sam jumps out and runs through the front door before John can even blink.  He chuckles to himself.  His youngest was always such an eager child.  Got that vibrant spirit from his mother, most likely.

 

Bobby greets John with a cold beer and a clap on the back.

 

“So the hunt was pretty much textbook then?”

 

“Far from it” John snorts, smiling into his drink as the settle into the old kitchen chairs.  “I deserve a damn medal for that ingenuity.  Hell, I’ll take the Nobel for quickest thinking on your feet.  I’m sure paying for it today though.”  John makes his point by stretching out his aching back.

 

The men fall into their usual conversations, content to let the boys catch up in the other room.

 

“So Dean getting any better?”

 

“Seems like.”  Bobby sighs, staring at the darkened sky out his window.  “He sure missed Sam though.”

 

“Yeah,” John smiles, “those boys are thicker than thieves.  Well, I mean they are thieves.  Better be if I taught ‘em right.”  The hunters echo each other's laughter.  John sees Bobby’s gaze wander and he turns around to see his sons walking into the kitchen together.  Well, one walking, the other on crutches.

 

“Hey boys, what’re you up to?”

 

Bobby’s attention perks up when he notices Sam lower his eyes while John speaks.

 

“We’ve just been deciding whether I should use a hacksaw or a chainsaw to get this thing off next week.”  Dean shakes his casted leg at the older hunters.  He looks to his little brother.  “Chainsaw, right?”

 

Sam half-smiles.

 

Dean frowns, then lights up.  “Oh!  I can’t believe I almost forgot it!  Bobby, will you go get the thing?”

 

Bobby bounces to his feet and leaves the room.  John leans forward, interested in Dean’s excitement.

 

“What thing?”  Sam nearly whispers.

 

“Sammy, I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there earlier.  Bobby’s been helping me use his soldering gun to make-”  Dean stops himself from ruining the surprise.  He takes a breath.  “You remember when you gave me this for Christmas?”

 

Dean holds the pendent away from his chest, leather cord hanging snug around his neck.

 

Sam nods, unable to stop a worried glance at his father.  He hasn’t forgotten that Bobby had given him the necklace as a gift for his father, not for Dean.

 

The older brother grins as Bobby returns carrying something that makes Sam’s blood freeze in his veins.  Bobby hands dean the small, yellow-paper wrapped box.  It even has a purple ribbon tied around in a bow.

 

Dean holds out the present to his little brother. 

 

“Happy Birthday, Sammy!”

 

For several moments the only sign of movement is the ticking clock on Bobby’s mantle. 

 

Then a wide-eyed Sam nearly trips over his own feet trying to get out of the room.  Out the front door.  The house is too small and he can’t breathe.  He needs to get outside, to the air.  He needs to breathe.

 

“Sam?” John gets to his feet, but Bobby is quicker to follow the panicking kid. 

 

Dean hastens after as fast as he can.  By the time he gets to the threshold he can see Sam sitting beside Bobby on the front porch step.  The older hunter has a soothing hand rubbing up and down his brother’s rapidly rising and falling back.  Dean knows hyperventilation is one of the signs of Sam’s panic attacks.  After a while Bobby looks up over his shoulder at a stock-still John.

 

“John, I think you should leave.”  Bobby lifts his .22, sets it on his lap as a clear threat.  “Now.”

 

Dean can’t see his fathers’ face, only the curt nod of his head before the confused man slowly makes his way to get in the impala and take off down the dirt road.

 

None of this makes any sense.

 

Sam is visibly shaking, and sounds like he’s crying.  His father is now gone, for no apparent reason.  Dean curses his inability to go sit down by and comfort his little brother.  Damn crutches.  Damn yellow box!  What had he done wrong?  Was a pendent a bad idea for a birthday present?  He stands in the doorway, waiting.

 

When Sam’s head falls onto Bobby’s shoulder Dean notices his brother has become quiet again.  The panic attack having drained all of his energy.

 

“Dean.”

 

The older brother starts from his worrisome thoughts to meet Bobby’s equally troubled eyes.

 

“Can you bring me a warm washcloth?” The hunter asks.  “Then go and make Sam’s bed as best you can.”

 

Dean says nothing.  Mind blank as he carries out the orders.  At least he’s still good at that.  They get Sam under the covers and leave the bedroom light on, door cracked open.  In the hall Bobby explains to him what most likely happened between Sam and John.  Dean shakes his head, bites his fist to stop from screaming and latches onto Bobby’s arms when the gruff hunter breaks his fall.  He sobs silently for what feels like an eternity of _why?!_ s, internally grateful for the strong arms wrapped around him as they sit there together on the floor.

 

In the end he is as empty as Sam.

 

Bobby picks up the young hunter and gently tucks him into bed.

 

He hesitates before switching off the light, turns back around to take in the sight of his sleeping boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mom went on a bender tonight, and I realized I wanted (needed) some healing for Sam. Or at least some comfort, with a chance for healing.


End file.
